the dream plays out the same, on a endless loop in this mind of mine. it drives me insane. the protagonist of the dream, he's a beauty, with a troubled mind where he cannot decide how to help himself. lost in the misery, cleaning white cuts with his face. but it seems like each line that spills from his parted lips have been drowsed in substances, completely flushing out any guilty feeling. his touch is entrancing, the soft pads of his fingertips keep me held in but it's his kiss that pulls my under. it's sweet, but before his sweetness there's bitterness. the dream stands somewhere between reality and pretend, I can't seem to decide anymore what is real and what isn't. everything seems to merge together, a big mess with all these memories that create him, the pretence in my dreams; what is real?
my head aches more and more with each time the dream reoccurs, changing my sleep into one so restless. my nights are becoming longer, and I'm awake before the birds. but he won't leave, I've cried and plead. but prescription drugs just don't do the job and the doctor won't listen. he sits on a desk, with a pencil in hand which makes soft sounds against the empty lines of the paper with pages that always remain blank and the sounds of the lead scraping against the paper grow louder. the images begin to morph, his smile fades and it starts to feel like my throats is being clawed at. no voices but faded smiles, faded love with the increasing sound of the pencil lead.
it's not long till the lead breaks, rolling around the wooden desk, rolling over scattered blank pages before coming to a halt. the man remains, stuck in an unmoving motion. a crack forms, just beneath the outer corner of his eye, travelling down his porcelain skin whilst another branches out from the side and the corners of his maroon tinted lips always lift up to form a ghost of a smile.
when will you leave my dreams?